


Sweet Quiznak

by CheckeredCloth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7332586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheckeredCloth/pseuds/CheckeredCloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're really into him," Hunk mutters, and wow, Lance's face is on fire.  Hunk is killing him.</p><p>"Look, read into how you like, Freud, just make sure that if I die Keith knows I totally would've mowed his ass like grass.  That way, I can laugh hysterically at his emotionally-constipated expression from the afterlife."</p><p>Or: Lance is badly injured and has a few skeletons in his closet.  Or maybe just the one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For all the shit Lance receives on a day-to-day basis from Keith and the other guys (but mostly Keith), Hunk definitely takes the crown for worst shuttle-craft pilot. And if Lance actually manages to get out of this, he'll never let his big, soft-hearted friend forget it.

"Jesus, hunk!" He curses, white-knuckled grip on the arm-rests of his seat. For the past twenty minutes they've been bobbing and weaving through uncharted, debris-ridden space, his normally-reserved friend making slap-dash flying decisions worthy of the Red Lion (though without nearly the same level of skill). "Slow down! I think you nearly side-swiped that whole freaking planet!"

"No talking," Hunk says, jaw set in a determined expression that he's had since they left planet-side. "Save your strength."

Lance pouts, but complies, hissing a bit as he takes his wadded-up jacket and presses it more firmly to his own abdomen. He can't help but notice in the periphery of his blurry vision that Hunk winces at the sound, but the larger paladin keeps his eyes trained on the view-screen in front of him.

Despite his more pressing physical issues, Lance feels a little guilty: he knows he would have a hell of a time trying to pilot a clunky ship through unfamiliar space while a friend bleeds out all over the nice, clean cockpit floors. Talk about a bummer.

Not that Lance thinks any of this is HIS fault; it was supposed to be a peaceful mission, dammit! When Coran and Allura stumbled upon a small (albeit way, way under-developed) society of pacifists that had yet to fall under the crushing force of Zarkon's thumb, it seemed an ideal situation for diplomacy.

Sending two paladins alone in a single shuttle to play diplomats was Coran's screwball idea:

_"They all need to learn, and the D'al are the perfect opportunity!" he exclaimed. "All life is supposedly sacred in their culture, even the tiniest D'alan mud-flea. The potential for even Lance to incite a frenzy is optimistically minimal."_

_"Hey!"_

_"No," Allura said, hands on her hips. "Splitting up the paladins puts us at a severe strategic disadvantage."_

_"Never meeting the people we're trying to save does, too," Shiro pointed out, reasonably. "They won't believe in us if they don't know us. Besides, you said there was a small Galran installation in this galaxy that already has its eyes on the D'al. We have enough bodies to make two teams."_

_"Two teams, two missions." Pidge said with a shrug. "We can cover more ground and increase our odds of winning the war in the long run."_

_Allura sighed. "I don't like it... But I can't deny the logic." She smiled grimly. "And the paladins have clearly gotten very good at out-voting me."_

_"Never should've started that team bonding, food-fight-exercise-thing-y, baby," Lance said, shooting her the finger-guns._

_"So who goes to the tea-party, and who gets to kick Galra ass?" Keith asked, arms crossed and making it very clear which task he'd prefer._

_Shiro smiled. "How does anyone decide anything of importance? We'll draw straws..."_

Lance is not surprised that he drew the short straw. He just didn't know it at the time.

And everything was going great at first: the D'al are green, hairless humanoids, and every bit as peaceful (and boring) as Coran implied, engaging in diplomatic relations with a grace and dignity far beyond their mud dwellings and humble (nearly non-existent) attire.

It's their pre-reformist enemies, the Xi'hal, that royally _suck._

The D'al's leader was apparently anticipating an assassination attempt (hello, Lance would've appreciated _that_ memo) but had no method of countering it: it is not the D'alan way to hide nor to retaliate. But what the leader didn't anticipate was that the attack would be on his young son. When the Xi'hal assassin -disguised as a priest- pulled the strange, hooked knife, Lance didn't even think, just acted...

And the next thing he knew, he was crouched painfully in the dirt in front of the kid, his guts slashed and a horrified look on all the faces around him, Hunk's included.

But hey, Lance is pretty sure the D'al _like_ Team Voltron now, and, pacifists or no, they didn't seem too upset when Hunk shot the assassin with his bayard.

But all this reminiscing is wearing Lance out, and he's getting bored again. Hey, bothering Hunk is fun...

"Hey Hunk?" he asks, and wow, his voice is raspy. "You remember that old cleaning lady at our dorm, who was always losing her cat?" Hunk nods, still not looking Lance. "I teased you for it, but I actually thought it was pretty cool of you to go looking for it, even if it did run away, like, ninety times."

And Lance grins, because he can't help but remember every one of those times: that cat was a fucking nuisance, climbing latrines and ravines (and one time, hilariously, the officers' lounge; Lance has pictures), only to get stuck until someone brought the yowling beast down again. Hunk never failed to be the one to do so, even though he's grossly allergic to cats and terrified of heights.

"And that one time..." Lance coughs wetly and closes his eyes, still grinning. "When that little squirrel got its ass kicked by that ass-hole fat squirrel who took all his nuts, and you shared your lunch with it? Yeah, I teased you for that... But I thought that was pretty cool, too."

"Stop it!"

Lance opens his eyes, blinking at his friend in surprise. Hunk is not generally prone to emotional outbursts. "Stop what?"

"Stop talking to me like you're going to going to die!"

Lance looks down at his red, sodden jacket that he's pretty sure even Nunvill can't clean. "Well, it's not looking too peachy from where I'm sitting, buddy."

"You're going to be fine," Hunk seems to be trying to convince himself as much as Lance. "We're going to get you to a healing pod, and everything's going to be fine."

And Lance decides to let that be that, because Hunk is making that face he makes when he's nearly in tears, and the last thing Lance wants to see is something as heart-breaking as a crying Hunk.

Especially since it might _actually_ be the last thing he sees.

Hunk curses (a rare sound indeed), and tries the shuttle's emergency broadcast system again.  "Hello? Hello? Where the hell are you guys?" He slaps his hand back down on the inter-space communicator, air huffing out of his large cheeks in frustration.

"No dice?"

"No dice," Hunk mutters. "Something in the metallic rocks of this asteroid belt is mucking up communications. All of our signals are bouncing back at us; even if I converted the shuttle's artificial gravity inducers into grounders for the sub-space transmission circuit-"

"English."

"-Even if I beefed up our communication systems, our transmissions still wouldn't go anywhere.  Or, at least, not where they're supposed to."

"Ah. Why didn't we just go around the stupid asteroid belt?"

Hunk's fingers clench around the pilot's controls. "We have to get to the ship, quickly. We don't have that kind of time."

And Lance's mind is getting a little fuzzy, but he doesn't miss the unspoken words: _You don't have that kind of time..._

"Hey, you know," Lance says, unable to ignore the elephant in the room, even when it's threatening to stomp on his head, "Even if we somehow manage to get within transmission range, the others are probably busy kicking Galra ass right now.  It's not like they can drop what they're doing and come get us."

"Then I'll think of something else."

Lance swallows, his throat painfully dry for some reason.  And he thinks: how fucking unfair would it be for _Hunk_ if Lance bled out and he was left -poor, loyal, determined Hunk- all alone in this stupid shuttle in this stupid asteroid belt with a _corpse_ , after trying so hard to save Lance's life? Lance presses his hoodie tighter against his stomach, even if it makes his vision go a little wonky for a beat, and takes a couple deep breaths. Because there is no way he's gonna let that happen. Not now that he's properly motivated.

But just in case...

"Hey Hunk?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you're trying to navigate through, like, four thousand space rocks right now, but if I die as a result of your terrible driving then I want the air to be clear-"

"Lance, I find it hard to believe that you would leave anything unsaid. I don't think there are enough words in the galaxy."

"Hey! I have secrets. Like wanting to jump Keith's bones."

They knock solidly into the side of an asteroid.

"What?!" Hunk exclaims, turning to gape at Lance. Lance grunts at the painful jarring of his wound. "Since when? H-how-?"

"Since pretty much the first time I saw that stupid mullet," Lance says through clenched teeth. "Could you please watch where you're going?"

Hunk ignores him. "But you never said... and it's not like you would-"

"Would hide that kind of thing? Would leave any attraction to anyone even remotely unsaid, for a second?" Lance can feel his face heating up, which sucks because he can't spare the blood. "Well, I guess something about him just makes me want to pull his pig-tails, or mullet-tail, or whatever."

They pause for a moment while Hunk mulls thoughtfully over the revelation. "You're really into him," Hunk mutters, and wow, Lance's face is on fire. Hunk is killing him.

"Look, read into how you like, Freud, just make sure that if I die Keith knows I totally would've mowed his ass like grass. That way, I can laugh hysterically at his emotionally-constipated expression from the afterlife."

Hunk grunts, like Lance is a four year-old blowing smoke.

"Also," Lance continues, weakly gripping his friend's shoulder and hoping that Hunk doesn't notice how red and dark the fingers are, "I know you did everything you could, Hunk. I'm glad you're here with me."

Hunk sniffles, and Lance wants to say something else, anything, to lighten the mood, but another asteroid pelts their hull from seemingly out of nowhere, and the jarring motion is apparently too much for Lance's wound; he finds himself sailing unwillingly, painfully, into a white powder-y void where thinking and being are impossible. Hunk's shouts reverberate distantly in his ears...

His last thought is that he hopes the guys will be able to find someone else to pilot the blue lion.


	2. Chapter 2

Lance is floating perfectly contented in the white nothingness, minding his own business, when suddenly, BAM! Someone flips a switch in his spine:

He's unceremoniously thrown back into his body, veins pounding as his nervous system is overloaded with what feels like a power-surge; his lungs are heaving, body arching up off the ground as the rush passes unrelentingly through his senses. His eyes fly open and land on the two paladins crouched over his body. Hunk is peering at his face in concern.

"Do you think it worked?" he asks Keith, who is sweaty and still in paladin armor.

"Fuck!" Lance chokes out. "What the flipping hell?"

"I think it worked," Keith says, rolling his eyes.

"What the hell was that?" Lance asks again, finally taking in his surroundings: they appear to be in the cockpit of Keith's lion mid-flight, though Lance has no memory whatsoever of changing space-craft, or lying down, or... who the hell is flying this thing, anyway?

"I shot you full of adrenaline," Keith says, and Lance notices what appears to be a small gun attached to a vial in his right hand. "At least, I think." He squints dubiously at the Altean labels on the vial.

"You can't just shoot people full of unknown alien substances without their permission!"

"You weren't breathing, dumbass! And I wouldn't have to if you actually took care of yourself, for once!"

"Hey! This isn't my fault!"

"Really? Because I'm starting to think everything's your fault, Lance!"

"Guys!" Hunk interjects, digging through what Lance guesses is an Altean First-Aid kit. "This isn't really the time, you know?" He produces a fat, gauzy piece of material, and Lance doesn't even feel it when it's pressed to his wound. Thank you, Altean wonder drugs. "How long until we reach the castle?"

"Two minutes."

"How did you know to come find us?" Lance asks, rolling his head to inspect the cockpit. He's never been inside Big Red before. "And who's flying the lion?"

"Autopilot." The lions have autopilot? "And... I just had a feeling, I guess?"

Lance rolls his eyes at the typically vague, Keith-ish response. "Of course you did." Feelings, energies, sure, whatever. "Wake me in two." He lays his head back down on the deck and tries to steady his erratic breathing. Two minute ETA to magic healing pod? He can totally live that long. Go team. His eyelids fall, and he actually feels somewhat relaxed again when there's a small slap to the side of his face.

"Gah! Bastard!" Lance reaches up to snatch Keith's wrist where it's poised threateningly above his face. "What was that for?"

"Stay awake," Keith commands, not moving to break Lance's grasp.

"I'll have you know that I was focusing on _surviving."_

"Yeah, because your recent escapades completely support that statement. Why do we let you out of the castle, again?"

"Because we need all five lions to form Voltron," Hunks pipes up helpfully, somewhere in the vicinity of Lance's feet.

"Wow, thanks Hunk," Lance says, not breaking his glare-off with the dark-haired paladin leaning over him. Keith's wrist feels comfortably warm and heavy in his hand, the other paladin's round blue eyes intent and yet, somehow, a little distant. No matter how mad he might seem, Keith's always a little distant: it's like there's a manufactured, artificially-flavored coating protecting his insides that Lance just can't not bite into even in the worst situations.

Keith drives him crazy in a thousand different, weird little ways he can't explain.

"Why can't you and I," Lance mutters, voice pitched for Keith's ears alone, "pretend to not hate each other for five minutes?"

Keith's fingers clench, tendons rotating against Lance's palm. "I've never hated you." His heavy eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "I don't know why you can't accept that. I've been saying it since the beginning."

And his painfully earnest expression is one Lance is getting to know well; it's achingly familiar at this point, like the scar of an old wound you got on what you thought was a good day.

_"Best. Day. Ever."_

_Lance turned from the list of class rankings to grin at the attractive cadet also reading the list. "Impressed?" he asked, leaning against the large screen._

_"You're blocking my name," she said, playfully shoving his shoulder. "I'm guessing that's you up top?"_

_"The one and only."_

_"Well, don't get too used to it," she said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear with a smile. "It's only the first term, and these things change pretty fast. Also, we got a late-arrival today: he's supposedly a real wild-card."_

_Lance made a show of inspecting his fingernails. "Well, he'll learn his place in the ranks pretty soon."_

_She raised an eyebrow and pointed to the opposite end of the cadet lounge. "Why don't you go give him a heads-up, then?" She wandered away to a large group of girls by the food processors, but not before Lance's gaze followed her finger's trajectory to an unfamiliar dark mullet. Who rocked a mullet anymore?_

_Apparently, this guy did, and it actually kind of suited him, in a bad-boy kind of way. Lance sidled up to where the kid stood in front of the lounge news-feed, watching the latest report on that Kerberos disaster. He was intending a little gentle hazing, 'cause, you know, new kid; but the guy's face was a bit twisted at what he was watching on the screen, like he was in physical pain, and that idea went as quickly as it came._

_"Hey," he said. There was no reaction, as if the kid hadn't even heard him. Lance cleared his throat, and that did the trick: the new cadet turned to him, eyes looking like they were a million miles away. "I'm Lance," Lance said, holding out his hand._

_The kid stared at the hand in front of him for a beat. "So?" he said, as if he was genuinely confused by Lance's invasion of his personal bubble. Lance gaped as Mullet-boy strode away, that strange, twisted look back on the other teen's face._

_Lance stood there for a minute and couldn't help wondering what he'd missed..._

Lance opens his mouth, not sure how to respond, when all ability to respond abandons him in a sudden spasm of discomfort.

He gasps, head thrown back and body bucking against his will, ears ringing in a chorus of wrongness that makes his limbs twitch. Lance's mother taught him at a young age that ingesting weird substances was a big No-No; he's not surprised that Keith -socially-inept lone wolf- somehow missed that domestic memo.

Two hands suddenly push at his shoulders, flattening him to the floor, but he can't identify the owner because his vision is dotted with little orange explosions. All he knows is that Hunk is shouting at Keith, Keith is shouting at _him,_  and he. can't. breathe.

Unconsciousness is a relief.

+++

Lance can hear voices speaking softly...

_..."Alright, so in hindsight sending them to the planet may have been a mistake. But as they say on Earth: hindsight is 70/50."_

_"It's 20/20, actually."_

_"What? Earthling vision must be horrendous. No wonder you poor things need so many inane colloquialisms to get through the day!"_

_"What Coran means to say is that Lance may have a propensity to attract trouble, even in a seemingly benign setting. We'll adjust accordingly."_

_"Agreed. We'll keep him in combat situations only, from now on. It'll probably be safer for him."_

_"His brain activity is spiking; I believe the healing cycle is nearly finished."_

_"Let him out..."_

Lance's world explodes in a cloud of white light and steam, and he staggers into a familiar body standing just outside the healing pod.

"Ding, turkey's done," he mutters into Shiro's warm, sturdy chest. Shiro takes his arm in a steadying grip.

"Hey buddy. How do you feel?" Lance doesn't get a chance to reply.

"LANCE!" He finds his vision eclipsed by two very large, very Hunk-ish arms. He braces himself -Hunk-hugs are the bane of perfectly healthy rib-cages everywhere- but Shiro says "Easy, easy!" and Lance finds himself only _mildly_ crushed. "I thought for sure that you were toast!"

Lance frowns, the side of his face squashed somewhere in the vicinity of Shiro's armpit. "You kept saying everything was going to be fine!"

"I was putting on a brave face for you!" Little tears of relief are seeping out of the corner of Hunk's eyes, and Lance can't help but turn and hug his big friend properly (if anyone makes fun of him for the sentiment later, he'll blame it on all the weird Altean medicine messing with his head). Lance peers over Hunk's shoulder and sees that yes, he's in the Infirmary, and the whole Voltron team is present with one obvious exception.

"I'd join the paladin group hug," Pidge points out with a small smile, arms crossed. "But after watching you sleep for three days, I think I feel close enough to you already."

"Three _days?"_

"We took turns keeping watch," Allura cuts in, warmly. She looks as fresh and perfect as Lance is gross and groggy. "You were never once alone. Though... some of us were more dedicated than others." She curls her long fingers over her chin, like she often does when she's trying to avoid pointing out something embarrassing.

"What Allura means," Pidge explains patiently, already typing away at some new computerized upgrade (are Lance's near-death experiences becoming that unimpressive?), "is that Keith had a three-day, epic angst session in front of your pod, and Shiro finally had to send him away because he was so pathetic and smelly that we thought his presence might actually be detrimental to your recovery."

"Really?" Lance asks Shiro, who shrugs.

"You were in bad shape, Lance."

The way Shiro tells it (and Lance considers Shiro to be the only truly reputable source on the ship) Keith left the battle before it was even fully over, the Galra installation reduced to a few dented stragglers who bolted for the nearest neighboring galaxy when the metaphorical smoke cleared.

And it was hella lucky for Lance and Hunk that he did: Keith's "bad feeling" put him within transmission range of their shuttle just as Hunk was forced to divert all remaining power to life-support; apparently they only had minutes left of pressurized air.

Also, Lance's seizing apparently had nothing to do with the shot of adrenaline Keith gave him:

Coran pops over to one of the infirmary's view-screens, pulling up a chart and tapping a pointer against it with a loud thwack. "As you can see, vital organs were perforated here, here, aaaand here. Human physiology is actually quite disgusting," he concludes, cheerfully.

"Where is Keith now?" Lance asks, trying to ignore the scans of his supposedly re-functioning organs.

"Probably in his room." That's Pidge again, a little too-helpfully and too-innocently. Little punk. "Want me to go get him so that you both can resume filling the room with unresolved sexual tension?"

Lance blinks as that little comment, a small potential-revelation itching at the corner of his brain. "You TOLD everyone?!" He realizes finally, pointing one enraged finger in Hunk's direction.

"Are you really surprised?" Pidge juts a thumb casually at a guiltily-grinning Hunk, in between strings of code. "He read my diary during an intergalactic crisis. This man has no respect for privacy."

Hunk avoids Lance's murderous glare. "I was trying to process the trauma of the experience!" He says, tapping his fingers together anxiously. "Besides: we needed stuff to talk about during the time that we were waiting for you to heal."

"Does _Keith_ know?"

"Uh, well," Hunk fudges, eyes anywhere in the room but Lance. "You see, I didn't technically tell him. But the thing about living in a ship with only seven people on it is word kind of... gets around?"

"You were supposed to tell him when I was _dead!"_

Shiro clears his throat pointedly. "Which thankfully you're not," he says, clapping a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Dinner's not for another few hours. Why don't you get some rest until then?"

Rest? Like Lance can rest...

He needs to find Keith. Though what he'll say when he finds him, he has no clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got a little longer than anticipated... Many thanks to all you incredible lovely readers for your beautiful comments and delicious threats! You're amazing!
> 
> Also, per very sensible requests, I revised my tags for the story somewhat to provide more warning. :)


	3. Chapter 3

When Lance stands outside Keith's door a few thousand ticks later, freshly-showered and clad in tee shirt, jeans, and robe (because Holy Balmera, the castle-ship gets cold, and his ruined jacket is officially MIA) he still has _no fucking clue what to say._

He stands there for an embarrassingly long time, fist raised above the door in a pre-knocking motion. Only when his stupid arm begins to go numb does he finally bring it down, nearly rapping his knuckles on Keith's forehead when the door suddenly whooshes open. Keith neatly steps out of the way of his fist without so much as a twitch, because it's Keith.

"You're awake," Keith says, almost robotically. And wow, he looks like hell.

To be fair, Lance knows he doesn't look much better, like he lost a few pounds he definitely couldn't afford to drop. But Keith looks like he hasn't slept in days (which according to Pidge, he hasn't really), his normally owlish eyes a little sunken in and red-rimmed. He's just showered though, like Lance, and his dripping dark hair is pulled back into a knot that shouldn't look cool and masculine but does anyway.

"Well, yeah," Lance says with a shrug, putting thoughts of Keith's irritating attractiveness on the back-burner. "Takes more than a primitive assassin with a bone-knife to get rid of me. It would take, like, at least two."

"Let's not test that theory."

"Okey dokey, Smokey."

They stand awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, Keith still technically inside his room and Lance still technically in the hall. Lance shifts to the side. "Going somewhere?"

"What?" Keith asks, scrunching his eyebrows. "Oh. Not anymore." He shrugs a little too casually, and Lance can't help but wonder if Keith was going to the Infirmary to check on him. "Come in," he says, stepping back into the darkened interior of his room, and Lance does. And for a moment his awkwardness at being in Keith's room for the first time is over-ridden by curiosity, because he's pretty sure Keith lets no one in his room. Like ever.

The room, for the most part, is just like Lance's, but there are a few obvious touches of personality: it's neat, but a bit cluttered, like the organized chaos of Keith's mind; he has drawings of the places they've been tacked up onto the wall, accurately if not stylistically-rendered; his paladin armor is in a pile in the corner, dark stains of what is probably Lance's blood still marring the surface; and on the desk in the center of the room is an open book, an old-fashioned ballpoint still resting along the interior spine.

Lance pinches one leathery corner of the book, wanting to look further, but Keith reaches over and slaps it shut. "What did you come here to tell me, Lance?" Keith asks, flat of his palm still resting protectively on the closed journal. Because Lance is almost positive that's what it is.

Lance crosses his arms defensively. "I figured you'd want to chat. Clear the air."

"Chatting isn't really my preferred method of dealing with things."

"Well, I figured this was kind of a special circumstance."

"Why?" There's a strange flicker of emotion in his eyes that Lance can't interpret.  "Because you almost died? _Again?"_   Keith picks up the book and tosses it onto his made bed with a scowl.

 _No,_ Lance wants to say. _Because now you know that I want to jump your bones._

But he doesn't say it, because there's a whole new undercurrent to their interaction now, like Lance has stepped over a line he didn't know was there and the tension has been amp-ed up as a result.

Fuck, he knew this would be awkward, but he didn't expect Keith to be _mad_ about it.

"Are you pissed at me?"

"No! No, I'm not pissed at you. It's just..." Keith runs his fingers agitatedly through his own hair. "Why is it that every time we're apart something terrible happens to you?" he burst out. And huh, Lance is suddenly not sure they're still talking about the same shit. "I don't want to worry about you, okay? I don't want that in my life any more!"

"Hey! I didn't ask-"

"I know!" Keith says and plops down on his bunk. "I know."  A tense silence follows.

And hey, Lance thinks he gets it, albeit in a weird, inverted kind of way: Keith has lived alone since he dropped out of flight school, probably longer if his weird, hermit-ized brand of socialization is anything to go by; Lance, conversely, has never lived alone, has always had four older siblings and the claustrophobia-inducing values of old-fashioned culture at his back.

But being surrounded by people doesn't mean anyone's looking at you.

So Lance understands, theoretically, how introducing people into the equation can make things messy or uncomfortable, if you're not used to it. And he actually does feel kind of bad for adding another cat to the bag of felines that is Keith's brain.

"Hey," Lance says, and Keith's eyes flick in the direction of Lance's right knee. "I didn't come to here to pick a fight or 'clear the air.' I actually came to say I'm sorry."

That makes the Keith sit up and take notice. "What? Why?"

"Because of what Hunk said. Look, I get if it makes you uncomfortable, and if it makes you feel any better it doesn't really have anything to do with you, exactly, but I..." Lance trails off at the increasingly blank look on the other paladin's face. "Wait," he says, squinting in suspicion. "Tell me what you know."

"Know about what?" Keith asks, rising to stand in front of him. "What did Hunk say?"

Lance groans and covers his face with both hands. Leave it to Keith to miss out on a juicy rumor in a room of only six people. "Nothing. Forget about it."

"No really," Keith insists, moving close enough to grab Lance's left wrist and pull it away from Lance's face, their bodies a partial reflection of a few days ago. "Tell me."

"Why? What's the point?" Lance scowls, giving a kind-of ninja chop to where Keith's hand has a hold of his wrist. Keith lets go with a wince. "'Cause I get it, okay? You don't hate me, but nothing I do really matters to you, either."

"Of course it does. You're a part of this team."

"I'm a butt in a cockpit-seat, whoop-de-doo." Lance turns to leave, this instance of somehow evading Keith's radar again stinging just a little too much for his comfort, even if it means avoiding an extremely embarrassing confrontation. "If you need Voltron, let me know. Otherwise, I'll be in my room napping."

"Lance," Keith says, grabbing both of Lance's shoulders and spinning him around until they're face-to-face. The motion is a little dizzying and brings them so close that their chests are nearly touching. Lance can see the bags under Keith's eyes and smell the antiseptic of the infirmary on his clothing.

"Keith," he counters, flatly.

There's that constipated look. "Look, you and I keep miscommunicating, somehow." He huffs out a breath that tickles Lance's nose. "I just don't get what it is that you want from me."

And they stand there for a beat, breathing one another's carbon dioxide, while Keith -intelligent, capable, top-of-the class-without-breaking-a-sweat _Keith_ \- looks to Lance to explain why they're not getting along. Like Lance is some kind of camp counselor mitigating arguments down at the pool (which he technically did for four years back in Varadero, but those skills aren't any real use to him now).

And, really, all Lance can think is: What the hell?  It's not like he has anything to lose.

In a moment of insanity, he presses his mouth to the slightly parted lips in front of him.

And it's not Lance's first kiss, by any stretch (what happens at beach camp stays at beach camp), but it's certainly notable: one, because it doesn't taste like suntan lotion and lip balm; Keith's lips are chapped but soft, and they don't really taste like _anything,_ which Lance actually kind of appreciates...

Two, because Keith isn't moving. At all.

Lance rears back as if slapped, and he's awarded the sight of a fellow paladin in a cryogenically frozen state: Keith's eyes are impossibly round, lips still slightly parted, fingers twitching almost imperceptibly where they still grip Lance's shoulders. Shiro is going to be pissed when he finds out that Lance broke Keith's brain.

All Lance's brain can focus on is retreat. "Look, I-" he says, stepping carefully out of Keith's grasp. Keith's hands remain suspended in the air. "I'm just going to go. Things to do, people to see, pods to scrub for Coran, you know how it is." His face is on fire as he backs up hastily to make his exit.

The sound of the automatic door release snaps Keith back into animation. "Wha-? But I didn't- and you? You didn't even let me..." He makes a kind of strangled roar of frustration, tangling his hands in his own hair. _"Don't you walk away from me, bastard, we're bonding!"_

But Lance is already out the door and bolting down the hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much again to everyone's kind comments, your responses have been beautiful and I read every single one of them. :) I hope you all enjoy reading this ending as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

When Lance was eleven, he learned how to perfectly execute a flip-turn.

In competitive swimming, it is one of the most essential and yet over-looked maneuvers: tucking your head, rolling your body with its pre-existing momentum so that you can use that force to push back at the wall, back at the water that's trying to buffer your speed. To the untrained eye, it's a blip in the program, something to gloss over in the heat of the relay. But a well-executed flip-turn will set up any decent swimmer for a good finish, will point them in the right direction. Even if that direction is technically the way they came.

Lance (who's gangly on land, but was _made_ for the water) decided at an early age that any momentous event in his life was actually a flip-turn, an instance of kicking off in a new direction. And while there are many childhood instances that he once considered huge and soul-altering, adult-ish Lance currently only has three marked instances of a flip-turn:

One, when his best friend Martin died in that car accident, and Lance dropped all his training, all his coaches, and all his swim scholarships to learn to become a pilot, half-way across the world.

Two, when he climbed down from that roof to rescue a former-idol with a former-rival.

And three, kissing Keith.

And okay, Lance doesn't need to be told how pathetic it is that all of his flip-turns have somehow left him pointing at Keith, like he's a fucking recurring side-character in the epic story of Keith's life. Lance is his own person, thank you, and every decision he's made has been his own.

But still, he can't deny that sometimes a part of you is actually a part of someone else, too. And vice-versa.

"One of these days, kid," his mother said to him, once, "You're going to push someone too far. And either something terrible or wonderful is going to happen."

And Lance knows that she's right. He just doesn't know which it is, yet.

+++

"Well, isn't this fun," Pidge deadpans over the mic from the green lion's cockpit.

The training session has been going as well as can be expected when two of Voltron's paladins aren't speaking to one another. Lance still hasn't talked to Keith about their big Bonding Moment three days ago (mainly because Lance has avoided Keith like the Andebulan Measels, which Coran says are both horrifying and highly contagious). And it's not because he doesn't want to hear what Keith has to say, it's... nope, that's it: Lance _definitely_ does not want to hear what Keith has to say. With Lance's luck, it will most likely be accompanied by a glare or a fist. Or death by Red Lion heat-ray.

But Lance digresses; with two members of the team in such a state, forming Voltron hasn't just been difficult: it's been fucking _impossible._

"Okay, that's it," Shiro says over the mic, in a tone that implies their Fate-appointed babysitter has had enough of their bullshit. "Pidge, Hunk: go back to the ship. Keith and Lance? You're with me." Alfor's beard.

Pidge and hunk chime in their affirmations, doing as instructed. Lance doesn't say anything as he pilots his lion after Shiro to the surface of the uninhabited planet they've claimed for the week, and neither does Keith; they both know what's coming.

Once all three of have landed and are standing outside on the planet's dusty, hot surface, Shiro pulls his helmet from his head and rests it on one hip. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" he asks, and his glare tells Lance that it isn't a rhetorical question. "Well?"

"It's his fault!" Keith blurts out, crossing his arms petulantly. The squealer.

"It is not!" Lance says, mimicking the posture. "Okay, so maybe it technically is! But I still don't deserve to be in trouble!"

"I don't care!" Shiro retorts. "I've given you both three days to sort this, and whatever it is, you're going to sort it. _Now."_

They both uncross their arms, because they know better than to provoke Shiro when he's using his Dad Voice.

"Two hours," Shiro continues, holding up two metal fingers. "That's when I'll come back to this spot. You both better have learned to like one another, by then."

And then they're alone, stuck together on a barren landscape (and Lance could technically escape in his lion, but Shiro would definitely put him in Time Out, and Lance is afraid to know how many laps and push-ups that would entail). He kicks grumpily at a huge, triangular rock that might have actually been a structure once, when alien peoples lived here.

"Would you at least look at me?" Keith says.

Lance peeks briefly back over his shoulder. "Oh, hello. I'm sorry, are you talking to me?" He crosses his arms again and leans back against Blue's flank. "Name's Lance. You may have forgotten, but we went to school together."

"Don't be an ass, it doesn't suit you."

"It suits you," Lance mutters, unsure if they're complimenting or insulting one another.

Keith walks up closer to him, kicking up clouds of dust and pulling off his helmet. He then reaches to tug off Lance's, and Lance lets him because it _is_ pretty fucking hot out. Also, the close proximity to someone he kissed only three days ago has left him somewhat paralyzed.

"Okay, so I'm going to say something," Keith says, and his expression is open, intent on Lance in a way it never has been before, "And you're going to fucking listen, alright?"

Lance mimes pulling a zipper closed over his own lips before re-crossing his arms. Keith rolls his eyes but continues.

"When we were rescuing Shiro from those scientists? I know now that I hurt you, by not remembering who you were."

Lance's eyes flick to somewhere over Keith's left shoulder. "What was your first clue?"

"Well, Shiro helped enlighten me, a little."

Lance blinks. "Wait, what? Do you tell him _everything_ that goes on between us?"

Keith's cheeks flush in a rare display of embarrassment. "Just shut-up for a minute, okay? This kind of stuff isn't exactly easy for me." He takes a deep breath. "So, I hurt you, and I know it's not the only time that I did it and it probably won't be the last. But you've let me down too."

"What?" Lance straightens up. "How?"

"By not letting me explain myself after you dropped that fucking bomb on me the other day!" Keith's face is starting to duke it out against his armor for vibrancy. Lance wonders if it can be seen from space. "You can't just kiss someone and then bail!"

There are suddenly several tiny, static-y exclamations of surprise from the helmets still held in Keith's grasp, and he tosses them away as if burned (though, as they sail several yards away, Lance can still hear a victorious "I knew it! I win the bet!" from Pidge). Eavesdropping traitors.

"I didn't want to hear what you had to say," Lance says, pulling Keith's attention away from glaring at their helmets. "That's why I ran."

"Maybe you would've liked what I had to say."

"I doubt it."

"You're such an idiot."

"See! This is me! Not liking what you have to say-!" But Lance doesn't get to say anything more, because suddenly Keith's mouth is on his, and his brain is forced to reject its previous understanding of reality in favor of a new one.

Because Keith kisses like he does everything else: carelessly, wildly, dangerously; he pushes Lance up against the metal of Blue's hull with a dull thunk, one hand going to Lance's hip and the other to his bicep. Lance lets him, lets Keith make him forget that he's supposed to be defensive and embarrassed in favor of tangling his gloved fingers in dark hair, of pushing his tongue past Keith's teeth and into that hot mouth he's thought about more times than he'll admit. When Lance takes Keith's lower lip between his teeth and bites down, the other paladin moans in such a way that makes Lance think he needs to get Keith to open up more often.

When they finally break away from one another, all panting breaths and outrageously sweaty helmet-hair, Keith adopts a slightly smug look.

"See? Told you you'd like it," he says.

And Lance means to say something snappy, but all that comes out is, _"Woah."_

Keith's answering grin is something Lance wouldn't be able to look away from if he was bleeding, starving, and Shiro was performing sensual salsa dances for Galra soldiers to the left of them. It's so bright that he might need sunglasses, for later instances.

He's really looking forward to later.

"You better fucking remember this bonding moment, asshole," Keith warns, body still pressed up against Lance's.

"Who are you, again? OUCH! That is not okay, Keith!"

_Everything is okay._

+++


End file.
